


Something Blue

by felifeli



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Characters will deal with homophobia, Domestic Bliss, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Multi, Past Phichit/Yuuri, Slice of Life, This takes place immediately after the GPF, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-18 20:09:30
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9401084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felifeli/pseuds/felifeli
Summary: Moving halfway across the world in the middle of the skating season would be unthinkable for anyone except Yuuri Katsuki, who is head over heels and following his heart to St. Petersburg.





	1. Their Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations for Russian at the end of each chapter

If Victor’s walls could talk, the first words that they would learn would be “I love you.”

No other phrase was spoken half as much once Yuuri Katsuki came to St. Petersburg, managing to fit all of his most important material possessions into two suitcases. Neither of them had been fully unpacked until weeks after their owner’s arrival. It seemed as though every time Yuuri buckled down to organize his belongings, he would be distracted by any number of things, most of which ultimately ended up with the lovers tangled in each other, giggling and saying that blessed phrase.

I love you.

Ai shiteiru.

Ya tebya lyublyu.

I love you.

It was not as though Victor and Yuuri had any shortage of time together during the skating season, but there was something different- something so beautifully different- about existing in the same space, tasked with every day chores along with their intense exhibition prep. In addition to hotel reservations and airplane tickets, they also had lengthy discussions about what to make for dinner or whether or not one of them had filled up Makkachin’s bowl before they left for the ice rink (to which the answer was always yes- Victor never forgot). And above all else, they began their mornings the way they ended each night: with a kiss and an “I love you.”

However, it was not the relaxing life that one might expect for the newly engaged couple. Directly after the Grand Prix Final, Victor and Yuuri returned to Hatsetsu, only to send the older of the two back to St. Petersburg within three days.

It came as quite a shock to Yuuri’s parents when he declared he would be taking his skating career elsewhere, and that meant moving out of their home. Of course they knew that their son was engaged to Victor, but of his twenty four years of life, Yuuri had only had this recognizable confidence for less than six months. It seemed like an awful big step for someone who only one month prior to Victor’s tutelage was depressed to the point of isolation.

But Victor was someone that they had learned to trust. Inside and out, he took care of Yuuri and brought out the best in him, what wasn’t there to love about the situation?

Yuuri mulled over this in the few days that he had spent with Victor in Hatsetsu, wondering why his parents were fussing over him now- that they did not have a problem with him leaving when it came to his time in Detroit. There was a fleeting thought that his parents, despite their vocal support, did not approve of Victor or the lifestyle he was choosing to live. He would not be able to leave, not in the right consciousness, if that was the case.

When Yuuri expressed these fears, Victor was quick and concise to shut them down. It was a conversation they had on their first night back in Hatsetsu, lying in the rickety old bed that had lived in Yuuri’s room for almost a decade, mindlessly linking their fingers together and trying to find sleep. No one in the household was under the impression that the two did not share a bed, but Yuuri was still conscious of his family’s eyes as his betrothed followed him up the stairs. Since the moment he made the announcement that he would be leaving Japan, there had been a thick sense of discomfort throughout the house. And, Yuuri had to admit, he was not a fan.

So that night, in his jet-lagged lethargy, Victor brushed his fingers against Yuuri’s face and reassured him with all he could manage in words of love. It pained him to see his lover’s features twisted in such anxiety, especially considering that only two days ago, he had celebrated his silver medal with a smart amount of dancing and champagne.

“We don’t have to do this, you know?” Victor brushed a thumb over Yuuri’s lips, observing the way they trembled. He could see it despite how heavy his eyelids had become. In response, Yuuri inhaled sharply.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean moving away, _malysh_.” He offered a smile to assure Yuuri he meant no harm to their relationship. “It’s a big step, living together. We can take it slower if that would make you happy.”

“No!” Yuuri almost shouted, but he seemed to frighten both Victor and himself, so his next words came out as hardly a whisper. “I want to live with my fiancée. It’s the beginning of our life together. Don’t you want that?”

“Of course, Yuuri.” Victor smiled, barely detectable in the dim light of the bedroom. “Now get some sleep.”

“Mm. I love you.”

“And I love you.”

\--

Victor’s short overlay in Hatsetsu was occupied mostly by packing. The room that he had taken up at the inn had started to look more like its own small apartment, and the deconstruction of it made both Yuuri and Victor emotional. Sure, they had been incredibly busy during the bulk of their season, but that made their stays at home so much sweeter. The inn was somewhere familiar they could return to after practices and it gave them the opportunity to let their inhibitions down and soak in the baths. There, they had nowhere to be but with each other, cradled and loved wholly.

Victor had begun to think of this place as his actual home. It was where he could be greeted by his beloved Makkachin and held by the most important person in his life. He constantly reminded himself that this would be the case when they moved to St. Petersburg, but that did not mean seeing the empty walls of the room at the inn did not hurt.

They made a mutual decision that it would be far less painful if Victor went to the airport alone. That way, they could say their goodbyes in a private place. Even though they would only be apart for a short time- less than a week, in fact- Yuuri still wept onto Victor’s shoulder. His hands gripped onto the soft fabric of the other’s coat, wishing for nothing but to stop time and never have to let go. Yuuri furrowed his brow at this unrealistic hope, choosing instead to speak muffled words into the suffocating embrace.

“I hate it when you leave.”

“It is only for a little while, _lyubov moya_.” Victor responded with a surefire smile. “Before you know it, you’ll be on your way to me. Then we’re going to start our lives together.” He paused to release his grip on Yuuri, instead opting to lift his hand and press his own lips to the golden ring. “When you feel anxious or sad or lonely, remember that you always have this piece of me with you. Give it a kiss. I’ll be right there.”

They exchanged kisses and “I love you’s” one last time before Victor and Makkachin left for the airport, leaving Yuuri alone for the first time since their brief separation during the Rostelecom Cup.

He did what he could in between his own moving preparations to keep himself in top shape. However, without Victor to direct him, Yuuri seemed to only skate in mindless circles. Any audience he gained during these sessions meant nothing to him. He might as well have been skating on an endless plane, surrounded by only more ice. On his third evening alone, he ran his free skate program, only to lose himself to tears at the end when he reached out and only the wall was there to catch his loving glance.

Both of his parents displayed the overbearingness that one would expect from a couple whose youngest child was finally, and permanently, as far as they knew, leaving the nest. The number of hugs that Yuuri received increased exponentially. And while this was no surprise from his mother, he had never known his father to care for physical contact. But even he took every opportunity he could to wrap his arm around Yuuri’s shoulders and spew some kind of advice that only he considered useful. Even Mari had a strangely high amount of physical affection to give. Unlike their father, however, her advice was actually somewhere in the realm of being valuable. She told him that, as a divorced woman, the number one mistake she ever made in her failed marriage was never communicating. She insisted that, had she spoken up when she was upset, she might have been able to salvage the relationship.

And while he appreciated his sister’s words, they left a pang of worry in his heart. The idea that his love could be ruined by something so small was concerning to say the very least. But each time his racing mind entertained the thought of the relationship ending, the light would glint off of his engagement ring, he would kiss it, and everything would suddenly be okay.

_He loves me, and I love him. Nothing could ever change that._

\--

December 22nd, 2016- 9:30 a.m.

It was printed very methodically on the plane ticket that sat secured in Yuuri’s coat pocket. On that early Thursday morning, he stood on the front steps of the inn, arms tight around his mother as she asked him a thousand times if he had everything he needed. Of course he did, his anxiety kept him up all night and he checked over his luggage countless times, but he politely answered her each time.

When they let go, she turned to her husband and took from him a small, wrapped package. It was passed over to Yuuri with a knowing smile. “One last pork cutlet bowl from me. You can eat it during your layover in Moscow.”

Looking down at the cloth that was tied around an insulated container, it hit Yuuri for the first time that we was truly picking up his roots and replanting them somewhere else. When he moved to Detroit, he knew that was only temporary. Now, he had made a promise to be with Victor forever. Wherever he went, Yuuri would follow, a perfect, doting husband.

He could not cry- he had used up all of his tears in the last week- but a lump formed in his throat. No goodbye had ever been easy for Yuuri Katsuki, but he knew that, in order to be truly happy, this one was a necessity.

Goodbye meant kissing his mother and hugging his father. Goodbye meant hailing a cab. But goodbye also meant he was one step closer to Victor.

\--

Sleep caught up to him the moment he sat down in the plane. It was the first leg of the flight that was the longest, almost eleven hours. He was seated next to a mother and her young child, who he had smiled at tenderly before drifting off, thinking of a future where he and Victor would take turns rocking a baby, their baby, to sleep.

Once they landed, Yuuri was reminded of the last time he had been to the Sheremetyevo airport. It was not too long ago, at the Rostelecom Cup. It was in the food court where Victor had Yuuri try his first bowl of borscht. He hated it, and they both had a good laugh over the face he pulled at his first taste of the strange, foreign food. Victor had whined that if he had known he would make such a face, he would have had his camera ready, and Yuuri responded that he would actually die of embarrassment if his boyfriend had that picture on his phone.

It was the first time that either of them had called the other their lover, but it slipped so easily off of Yuuri’s tongue that Victor only changed his expression for half of a second before relaxing it into a smile and offering to buy them crepes to make up for the borscht.

He smiled at the memory, letting his tired body rest in the wave of emotions that hit him with both that recall and the taste of the pork cutlet bowl that his mother prepared for him. It wasn’t warm, but it was just enough for him and his empty stomach. Even if he had been awake during the bulk of the flight, he would have been too nervous to eat. He feared that he would end up in St. Petersburg without Victor to guide him and he would be terribly lost. Yuuri had only learned bits and pieces of Russian so far. He intended to eventually be fluent in his fiancée’s mother tongue, but currently, he did not even trust himself to hold a conversation. How would he ask for directions if he were to get lost? He could look at his phone… but what if it died? It was unlikely, but any possibility that it might happen was enough to spike Yuuri’s anxieties.

To quell these fears, as he was getting ready to board his second flight, he sent a text to Victor, and immediately turned his phone off.

_On my second plane now. My ETA is 4:30. See you soon!! (´_ _∀_ _｀_ _)_ _♡_

\--

“Meenya zavoot Katsuki Yuuri.”

That one was easy. Victor had taught him that many months ago.

“Vi gavareetye pa angleeskee?”

 _Do you speak English?_ He figured that would be the key phrase for him at this point in his life. He was learning, yes, but if he had the opportunity to speak in English instead of Russian, he would take it. His own English was not the best, but it was the language he and Victor spoke to one another. So, in his mind, that was the language of love.

He read other phrases from a basic Russian language learning book that he balanced on his knee, occasionally mumbling the enunciations to himself, though he was pretty certain that they were incorrect. But on this journey, he did not have Victor to playfully scold and correct him. No, the only recognition he got was from the elderly woman that was sitting across the aisle from him. About halfway into the flight, she leaned over and addressed Yuuri in a thick Russian accent.

“You learning?”

“Hm?” He looked up and tried to offer her some kind of smile. “Yeah. I’m moving to St. Petersburg so I figure I should know a little bit.”

The woman closed her eyes and nodded in thought. “Very good. You are not going alone, are you? Do you have a translator?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty fortunate.” Yuuri could manage a more genuine smile this time, placing his finger where he had left off on the book to have a real conversation. “I don’t think I’d be able to do this alone. It took me long enough to learn English. But my fiancée is Russian so I’ve got a great tutor.”

This brought a grin to his conversation partner’s lips. “Oh! What a lucky girl, having a handsome boy travel so far to be with her.”

Had Yuuri not paused in surprise at the word “girl”, he might have corrected the woman. However, in that half second when he blinked in confusion, he was reminded of a conversation that he and Victor had following the Cup of China. Both of them had been walking on air following the event, having exchanged a kiss, and a memorable one at that. At that point, neither was a stranger to the other’s lips, but all displays of affection were kept behind closed doors for fear of the exact thing that put Victor in a somber mood the day after their big moment. When Yuuri prodded him about it, he sighed and took his hands close.

“I hope this doesn’t upset you, Yuuri.” He began looking down, feeling mixed emotions stir behind his eyes. “But they cut out the end of your performance in Russia.”

“Hm?” In response, Yuuri had a tentative smile. “Why would they do that?”

“Because I kissed you… and that, to them, is bad. They don’t want my fans knowing about us.”

Yuuri mulled over this for a few moments. It was true that he had not let himself worry about the public perception of his relationship with Victor. What they had was something that transcended the understanding of anyone else, so he did not like the idea of it becoming a spectacle. But this was different. According to a great number of Russians, the relationship was wrong. It was disgusting, worthy of being censored from the people.

He tried to brush this off as he squeezed Victor’s hand. “Don’t worry about me. I know there are things that have to be done.”

“I want the world to know I love you.”

“You think they don’t know that?” Yuuri leaned forward to press his forehead against Victor’s. “I mean, come on. Kiss or not, they see what happens on the ice. Anyone who thinks of us as a mere coach and athlete is kidding themselves. I’ve shown to the world that I love Victor Nikiforov, and nobody can take that away.”

Thinking back on this conversation, Yuuri thanked his lucky stars that the woman on the plane did not recognize him. Victor was a celebrity in Russia, adored far and wide for his good looks and talent. The commonly accepted rhetoric was that Yuuri stole him from figure skating, putting him in the position as some kind of pariah to Russian figure skating fans. He could only assume that this woman did not follow the sport, because if she did, there was a good chance she would have spat at him instead of engaging in polite small talk.

“Yes.” He nodded, having gone through a small epiphany about the state of his love life. “I’m very excited to move in.”

“St. Petersburg is gorgeous. Your life will be lovely here.”

“Thank you very much, ma’am.” Yuuri flashed her a smile. “Actually, if you wouldn’t mind, is there any chance you can teach me a phrase. I would like to surprise my fiancée.”

\--

With the wind blowing hard, the temperature in St. Petersburg was negative ten degrees Celsius. The moment Yuuri stepped outside the airport, his nose began to run and his eyes stung in the worst kind of way. It would have been nice if he could have stayed, bundled and warm, in the airport lobby, but he had absolutely no time to spare. He had told Victor he would meet him around 4:30, and it was 4:46.

Yuuri clicked his phone on and pulled up a map. It was the quickest way for him to find directions to the place they had planned, a beautiful landmark called Trinity Bridge. He was cursing Victor in his head for not just meeting him at the airport. It would have been worlds easier on Yuuri’s end, but there was not any use lamenting about it. The sooner he got moving the sooner he would see Victor. His phone read that it was a fifteen minute walk to Trinity Bridge, but he was determined to make it ten.

 _Leaving the airport now!!_ ♡ ♡ ♡

The directions he got from his phone were relatively straightforward: walk down this street, turn this way. Yuuri followed them to a fault except for the fact that “walk” became “run”. There were not many passersby on the street to question why some Japanese kid was sprinting through the streets of St. Petersburg like he was escaping from an assassin, most were wisely keeping warm in the privacy of their own homes. And Yuuri smiled, thinking of how soon, so very soon, that would be him.

But even the world-class athlete in him became tired after running for so long in the blistering cold. A while into his short journey, he felt something tighten in his chest, making it very hard for him to take each breath. Discouraged, he slowed to a stop and rested his hands on his knees, heaving and watching the ground beneath him wobble. He had not realized just how taxing this run would be and now that he was stopped, he was unsure if he could get the momentum going again.

Once his breath caught up to him, Yuuri straightened his back. It was not much longer, he told himself. It couldn’t be. He had been running for what felt like closer to an hour than fifteen minutes, there was no way he could have much further to go.

And a glance in front of him confirmed this. All of the restraints his body had kicked in were chased away when Yuuri realized that he could see Trinity Bridge in the distance in front of him.

Now, all he wanted to do was run.

He could have ran for the rest of his life with that beautiful landmark in his sights. The streetcars zoomed past him and the wind tousled his hair beyond repair, all culminating in a rush of adrenaline that Yuuri did not know he had in him. The closer he got, the less he felt anything other than his beating heart.

_This is my new chapter. This is the beginning of so many wonderful things._

What interrupted his internal monologue was easily the most wonderful sound that Yuuri had ever heard, and that was an excited bark from a most treasured companion. He was standing there, ready to race Yuuri in the last leg of the journey.

“Makka!” He called out, his heart overflowing into a bright smile. Once he got close, the chase began. It took him down one last cobblestone street and then onto the first steps of Trinity Bridge. Yuuri kept his eyes set on the path in front of him, at the end of which was his happiest sight. Leaned against the railing of the bridge was his new beginning. From there, overlooking the glistening rush of water and the setting sun, he would have the world.

“Yuuri!”

The call he heard was the last sensation that reached his body before it was overwhelmed with a crashing embrace. He had not slowed down, for he could not stand to wait any longer, even if the wait could be measured in seconds. All that mattered now was the warmth against his exposed skin, given in the form of Victor’s familiar coat.

The longer he spent in those arms, the more he noticed his adrenaline drop off. His knees grew weak and he seemed to slump to the ground. But Victor held him up, laughing hard. “If I knew you were going to run, I would have called you a car.”

 _The bastard._ Yuuri made half of an attempt to feel annoyed, but it was no match for the flood of other emotions that reminded him that this was the person he loved more than anyone. Nothing Victor could say would take him from this high.

So, instead of responding with another jape, Yuuri summoned his dwindling strength to stand up and place his chilled hands to Victor’s cheeks. He knew his pronunciation was probably downright offensive to a native speaker, but he still sounded out each word with more love than he could bear to keep inside.

“ _Prebyvaniye ryadom so mnoy, Victor._ ”

And he couldn’t help but grin when his fiancée’s eyes widened in sure recognition. They were words uttered, albeit in English, during some of their most vulnerable times, a plea to always love and cherish each moment they spent together and a hope that times they needed to be apart were short.

Together now, and with no intention of leaving the other’s side for a moment, Victor leaned forward to press his lips to Yuuri’s forehead. “ _Vsegda_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian translations:  
> -Malysh: baby  
> -Lyubov moya: my love  
> -Meenya zavoot Katsuki Yuuri: My name is Katsuki Yuuri  
> -Vi gavareetye pa angleeskee?: Do you speak English?  
> -Prebyvaniye ryadom so mnoy: Stay close to me  
> -Vsegda: Always


	2. Three's a Crowd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY! So first thing's first, I'd like to sort of speak to the Russian. It's anglicized because that his how I go about the language when I sing Russian opera pieces. I leave the translations at the bottom to sort of convey the same confusion that Yuuri feels while everyone is speaking a different language around him.
> 
> Also, I was unsure how to spell Yuri Plisetski's name in the narrative, but I decided to go with Yurio because I wrote the sentence "Yuri looked at Yuuri" and my head kind of imploded.
> 
> And that's it for the beginning! Thank you so much for reading! <3

                If there was anyone who could manage to glance over an entire person because they were so dizzily in love, it would be Yuuri Katsuki

                It was not like Yurio was trying to make himself obvious, hunched over against the railing of the bridge, but it was still another human being- an entire human being that Yuuri missed. And it took a scoff and a teasing statement to bring him into Yuuri’s field of vision.

                “You out of practice, huh?”

                Yuuri reeled back out of Victor’s arms, embarrassed that he was so surprised. There was a laugh forming in the back of his throat, but the sprinting was catching up to him, and all he could do was pant and try not to topple over. This further encouraged Yurio’s coy smile. “Victor leaves for less than a week and now you’re huffing and puffing like my grandmother.”

                For a moment, Yuuri ignored the lights behind his eyes so that he could respond. “I’m in practice I just… It’s freezing out and I’ve got this huge backpack and…”

                “Oh yeah, Yuuri.” Victor put his hands on his shoulders. “Where’s the rest of your luggage?”

                The question hit him very suddenly, causing him to draw a blank and merely look at Victor with two ignorant eyes. “My what?”

                “Your luggage, malysh.” Victor responded with a charming laugh, but both his and Yurio’s faces read that they knew that Yuuri’s answer would not be a good one. They watched the distinct dread spread across his features as he came to the realization that, once again, he had been too focused on seeing Victor that he completely and totally forgot all of his belongings at the airport. With all of the exhaustion and excitement bubbling in his chest, there was not much room for embarrassment, but it still came through as he gripped two fistfuls of his own hair.

                “Oh no no no no!!” He whined out, feeling both pairs of eyes stare him down with sympathy and mockery, respectively. Makkachin pushed up against his legs, making a soft whine that was most likely a beckoning for attention.

                Yuuri was not expecting his first mistake in Russia to come so soon. He thought that perhaps he would butcher a sentence and offend a local or forget to set all of his clocks and miss his first practice in St. Petersburg, but this was right off of the bat. He had barely set foot in the country before he managed to send himself into the beginnings of a panic attack.

                As expected of a doting fiancée, Victor anticipated this and stepped forward to remove Yuuri’s hands from his head. He put a smile on his own lips, but kept his eyes stern. “Now, now. No need to worry. I will go back to the airport and get the suitcases. Yurio, call a cab and take Yuuri and Makka back to the apartment. Once I get back, we’ll head to dinner.”

                “Da, da.” Yurio waved a dismissive hand. “Makkachin mozhet ne sledovat' za mnoy, khotya.”

                “On budet sledovat' za Yuuri.” Victor scratched his dog behind his ears and flashed Yurio a teasing smile. “On na samom dele _lyubit_ Yuuri.”

                He received an exaggerated eye roll in response as Yurio pulled out his phone to dial for a cab. “Bez raznitsy. Pearl ne vash samyy bol'shoy poklonnik.”

                Yuuri followed their conversation, wondering in earnest if words had always blurred together the way he was hearing them now. He found himself somewhat offended that the moment he was not in the picture, Victor and Yurio made the quick switch into full blown Russian, both of them knowing well that Yuuri was clueless in the matter. And even though the bulk of what he heard did not make sense, he did recognize the name Pearl, who was Yurio’s temperamental cat. He also caught Victor smiling one more time before he turned on his heel to find a bus stop.

                “Mekh demon ne lyubit menya? Ya budu zhit.” Victor waved a hand over his shoulder with indifference. “I’ll see you both soon.”

                Yuuri felt a whine in his throat, wanting to grab Victor by the sleeve and implore that he _just_ got to Russia and it was not as though he did not love Yurio, but he was just kind of sort of hoping they would get to spend some one on one couple time to help him combat jetlag. But instead of speaking, he made the motion of waving back and sighed.

                Yurio did as well, but his was pointed with annoyance. “You two are unbelievable, you know?”

\--

                Unlike the Russian residents he had interacted with thus far, the cab driver immediately recognized who Yuuri was. He was an older man who reeked of cigars and coughed as he tipped his cap towards the backseat. “Vy stavlennik Viktora, ne tak li?”

                Yuuri blinked and babbled a few unintelligible syllables, to which Yurio let out a howling laugh, very much entertained as his counterpart struggled to remember the very little Russian that he knew. The one word that he could pick out, to no surprise, was “Victor.” He immediately recalled the Russian skating fans who resented him for “stealing” their star from the sport. Now that Victor had announced his comeback, those feelings had more or less died to a small mumble, but even that was enough to set Yuuri’s nerves on fire. He did not know if this driver was making any accusations- his tone did not suggest that, but it was hard to read the emotions of a person who was focusing their eyes on the road ahead of him.

                Eventually, Yuuri was able to make sense of his thoughts and spoke to the driver, who had also begun to laugh.

                “V-vi gavareetye… pa angleeskee?”

                “Net.”

                _Of course._ Yuuri inhaled sharply. This was going to be very difficult. Not just the cab driver- their entire interaction would be contained within the ten minute drive. However, Victor had let him know that there were not many people in St. Petersburg that spoke English, and, those who did usually spoke very little.

                This situation, however, was not the norm. On a typical day, he would have Victor by his side to translate, making conversations with locals tedious but manageable. Granted, Yurio could always act as a temporary aide, so Yuuri gave him a pleading look.

                “Help me out?”

                Yurio pushed out a lip, the remains of a laugh still in his eyes. “Fine.” He spoke his next words in the direction of the driver. “On pereyekhal v Sankt-Peterburg, chtoby trenirovat'sya s Viktorom.”

                He received a gruff response. “Eto interesno. Budet li on bit' vas v sleduyushchem godu?”

                With Yuuri’s nerves working overtime, it hit him particularly hard when Yurio began to laugh again, this time holding his midsection. “Bez shansov, bez shansov.”

                Whatever they were saying, both of them found it incredibly funny. Even Makkachin, who had been politely and quietly curled up in the center seat, let out some contented noises. Looking around at all of them, Yuuri felts his cheeks heat up and his eyebrow twitched with slight annoyance. “I meant translate for me, Yurio.”

                “Yeah?” The look he received only encouraged the laughing that he had to try very hard to quell as he responded. “Well what would you like to say?”

                Caught off guard yet again, Yuuri bit down on his lower lip. “No, I just… Like what did he say to me?”

                “He asked if you were the ice skating piggy who stole Victor from the entire world.”

                In Yurio’s sarcasm, Yuuri found something that resembled comfort. He decided that what he was missing was more than likely small talk that did not mean much. And perhaps the humor was something he would not even get in Japanese or English.

                With a newfound relaxation, he turned towards the window and watched the residential and commercial buildings that flew by. They were much different from the ones back in Hatsetsu, uniform and dully colored. They reminded him much more of the buildings he saw back in Detroit. However, instead of skyscrapers, St. Petersburg had vibrant chapels and regal towers, all looking over their lackluster companions. As a whole, the view was magnificent, almost larger than life.

                _Just like Victor._

                Yuuri felt himself smile. In the rush of emotions he felt upon his arrival, he had not allowed himself to have that giddy excitement that came with this big change. He was like a child the night before a big vacation. Even though the jet lag was quickly catching up to him, he was not sure if he would be able to sleep.

                However, he was not immune to exhaustion, not by a long shot.

                The moment he stepped out of the cab, his legs felt like wet clay. He stumbled out onto the sidewalk, wobbling before finding a bit of footing. The ground seemed to change its proximity to him with every step he took, so he reeled back and leaned against the building while Yurio paid the driver, who looked at Yuuri with a raised eyebrow.

                “On ne stol' izyashchny ot l'da, on?”

                Yurio responded with an exasperated head shake, gave the man his fare, and waved goodbye. He had an icy stare when he stepped onto the curb, Makkachin trotting up past him to beckon Yuuri further. He would have loved to play, but all that he could focus on wanting was a nap.

                “We live here.” Yurio nodded towards the closest building, a tall, grey complex, while retrieving a ring of keys from his pocket.

                “We?” Yuuri was pacifying Makkachin as he followed Yurio to the front door. “You live here too?”

                Once inside, the younger of the two waved to an indifferent young woman who was sitting with a magazine at the reception desk. “Yeah. After the Grand Prix I decided it would make sense for me to move closer.” He jabbed the “4” button on the elevator, motioning for Yuuri to follow. “Before, I had to bus for an hour just to get to the rink. Mila and Georgie live in the building next door. Yakov’s house is a few streets down.”

                Yuuri hummed thoughtfully, stepping forward when the elevator doors opened on the fourth floor. He had not considered that Yurio would be living alone, being as young as he was. Yuuri did not, as his mother expressed, “spread his wings” until he was eighteen, when he first arrived in Detroit for college. And even then, he was still very dependent on others. But according to Victor, Yurio lived with only a cat to keep him company. All of the cooking and cleaning was up to him, and he even paid his own bills.

                When Yuuri looked at Yurio, he did not see someone on the edge of sixteen. He could easily be mistaken for someone much younger, maybe even as young as twelve. It was not until he began to talk when one could believe the age. Yuuri had not pondered on this much, and he and Yurio had not spent much time in close proximity once he left Japan at the beginning of the season. Now, standing in an empty hallway, he studied Yurio’s features. Everything about him seemed so much softer than any fifteen year old boy he had ever met, from his lips to the pale skin that lacked any sort of blemish or imperfection. The more Yuuri looked, the more he saw what he could only describe as a doll.

                Once they reached the door Yuuri concluded was Victor’s, Yurio turned a key in and huffed. “You done staring, Katsudon?”

                Taken aback by the question, Yuuri stammered over his response. “Just… I was wondering why you have a key to Victor’s apartment.”

                Yurio was not convinced by Yuuri’s rushed answer, but he carried on, pushing the door open and walking inside. His voice came out as a mocking one. “He gave me one when I moved in in case of emergency. He acts like he’s my dad or something. It’s so annoying.”

                This gave Yuuri a subtle smile, which helped as he took a deep breath to push him to cross the threshold into his new home. Yurio had already kicked off his shoes and sat lounged on the couch with Makkachin racing excitedly to another part of the apartment.

                He set his shoulders lower, unsure of where to begin with all the new information he was to take in. Everything he saw was so completely and undoubtedly _Victor,_ boasting status and style despite the limited floor space. There was a couch that, with a matching recliner, circled a beautifully crafted coffee table, all of them facing towards a quite expensive looking television. Yuuri could also see the opening into a nook that was outfitted with dozens of books. He could not make out what any of the titles were, but in his mind, he wondered if he had ever seen Victor pick up a book in the nine months they had been inseparable.

                As he scanned his memories, it hit him that perhaps Victor had to put his hobbies aside to train him. Sure, they had free moments in between the intense workouts, but Victor also had to deal with the bulk of the press releases as well as every last bit of choreography. Pastimes were not exactly a realistic option for someone so busy.

                Yuuri had to tell himself to quiet these thoughts down for fear he would lose himself to a bout of guilt and he had no desire to spend his first night with Victor apologizing every other sentence. To set his nerves at rest, he resolved to bring it up at a later time and focus on surveying the rest of the apartment.

                The dull evening light poured in from each of the many windows, which gave way to a breathtaking view of the city. This was where Yuuri found himself drawn as he slowly removed his coat. When he looked out, he looked out over countless lights and just the slightest amount of blustering snow. It seemed far too picturesque to believe, so Yuuri pressed his fingers against glass. They quickly grew cold, but he smiled wide, picturing the nights that he would have from here on in, getting to witness the view while in the company of his love.

                In the midst of the fantasy, he had effectively forgotten that Yurio was close by, poking at his phone while occasionally glancing up. Yuuri had the face of an overexcited child, his breath continually fogging up the glass of the window. Eventually, Yurio set his phone down next to him and spoke up. “Those really are engagement rings, aren’t they?”

                Pulled quite ungracefully from his daydream by the question, Yuuri turned quickly and tilted his head to one side. “Hm?”

                “The rings you got in Barcelona.” Yurio motioned to Yuuri’s right hand. “I thought they were just good luck charms like you said but neither of you have taken them off. Victor sleeps with his, even.”

                “Oh…” Yuuri blinked twice before slowly lowering himself into the adjacent armchair. “Yeah, I guess so.” He and Victor had not actually had a real conversation about the implied meaning of the rings, at least not since they were declared symbols of engagement the night before the Grand Prix Final. “That wasn’t what I bought them for but if Victor says we’re going to get married… Then we’re getting married.”

                “Not until you win gold, though, right?” Yurio jabbed with a smile.

                Yuuri mirrored the expression, turning the ring a few times with his left hand. “That was the deal. We could be planning the wedding right now if _someone_ didn’t beat me at the final by less than a point.”

                This, much to Yuuri’s surprise, caused Yurio to throw his hand over his mouth and laugh. It was a much more genuine sound compared to the teasing kind he had heard in the taxi. This time around, Yurio had a kind of light in his eyes as he smiled wide. “Well, don’t expect me to apologize for that. You should have had a better short program.”

                “We’ll settle this at World’s.”

                “You’re on, piggy.”

                Much to Yuuri’s delight, he and Yurio were able to keep up a relatively pleasant conversation, discussing the possibility of delaying the wedding further as to not have to fight for the spotlight considering JJ was engaged as well. The magazines and websites ate all of the wedding talk up, and JJ had a very hard time keeping his mouth shut about the whole affair. He and Isabella made all of their plans public, from their florist to the bridesmaids and groomsmen and everything in between. All of the interviews that decorated the glossy pages of magazines expressed the same things; JJ was determined to redeem himself and win gold at both the Four Continents and the World Championships. Pictures of him practicing his jumps were the only visual cue that any of the other skaters got, but both Yuuri and Yurio could see the smirk that he undoubtedly wore when he spoke to the press.

                “That bastard’s lucky I’m not in the Four Continents.” Yurio remained lounged as he spoke with an annoyed frown. “You’d think the Grand Prix would have taken him down a peg but now he’s even worse ‘cause he has this great plan for redemption and you know he won’t shut up until he’s back to god status in the skating world.”

                “You say like he ever stopped being a god.” Yuuri rested his head in his hands, opting to smile. “When I screwed up my Grand Prix short program, I got called a wash up by every sports writer on this side of the planet, he got a standing ovation.”

                Yurio rolled his eyes. “You also have an ego the size of a grape. Just keep him in his place at the Four Continents and I’ll show him a repeat performance at Champs.”

                Laughing, Yuuri considered the humor of taking orders from someone so much younger. However, since the beginning, he had always seen Yurio as someone on a level playing field, regardless of age. It was easier to look forward and consciously ignore the other’s leopard print socks and the way his cheeks puffed out when he typed on his phone.

                Amidst the quiet, a clicking from the doorway pulled both of their attentions as well as summoned Makkachin from the far hallway, excitedly barking and bounding through the hallways without a hint of grace. Yuuri rose as well, his hands fidgeting together as he listening to the keys click against the door. As it had done nearly every time before, his heart pounded at the very thought of seeing Victor again. So when the door opened, Yuuri was already sprinting around the table. His mind, racing just as quickly as his feet, fell blank and once he was latched onto Victor, he spoke without thinking. “Yōkoso, ai!”

                Victor, who had stumbled back slightly among the two large suitcases that he had toted in behind him, was laughing loudly. “What was that?”

                Well aware of the mistake but far too happy to show any hint of self-consciousness, Yuuri tightened his grasp around Victor’s shoulders. “Welcome home, darling!”

                First, Victor kicked his foot back too shut the door behind them. Then, he planted his feet to the ground so he could properly lift up Yuuri, eventually situating his forearms under his legs so his feet were dangling and he was laughing with a face that was joyful and red.

                “My, my!” Victor spun the both of them around while Makkachin barked at his feet. “Do I really have this to look forward to everyday? Surely, I must be dreaming!”

                Over their continued giggles, Yurio stood and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Oh, this is real, old man. And so is my face. You see this?” He gestured his hand over his exaggerated scowl. “When are we going to get food?”

                Victor hummed happily, placing Yuuri back onto his feet before pulling the two suitcases further into the living room. “My Yuuri is finally in Russia. I want to spend time in our home.”

                “We both know you’re talking about the bedroom, and you’ll have plenty of time to spend in there later.” Yurio mumbled with half of a smile, and Yuuri immediately went red. It was laughable how something as small as Yurio’s suggestion was enough to put his heart in his throat. His hands became fists; it was the quickest way he knew to distract his mind from mulling too much over the feelings that hit him.

                He was allowed to calm down from the slew of emotions as Victor and Yurio began to discuss in barely intelligible Russian where they would go to get dinner. Their banter was all too familiar, and Yuuri could not help but wonder how Victor was able to completely gloss over the comment that had been made in reference to their intimate relationship.

                Victor, no matter in what context, was still his angelic self. Even when he was poking fun at Yurio while simultaneously attending to his overexcited dog, he still glowed, his bright eyes doing more for the room than any lamp could. Yuuri felt his heart skip a beat, once again reminded of what his new life would bring.

                Eventually, the buzzing conversation slowed to a resolution, and soon Yurio was calling for another taxi.

                While Yuuri was pulling his coat back on, he turned to Victor. “Don’t you have a car?”

                “Hm? Oh, yeah, I do. But this place has some of the best cocktails in the city. So until Yurio turns 18 and learns to drive, taxi it is.”

                A quick memory flashed behind Yuuri’s eyes, bringing back the distinct memory of the night before the Cup of China when Victor hung off of him, completely naked and completely drunk. By the time they managed to get back to their hotel, he had been pawing at Yuuri’s body and whining lines in his ear that were so dirty they could have been comical had they not been in such a compromising situation, what with the press hunting them at every corner.

                Yuuri laughed with a hint of condescension. “Okay. But don’t be mad if I cut you off at some point. I would like you to be conscious for my first night here.”

                Victor sauntered forward, prepping some form of suggestive comment, but, like a savior to Yuuri’s nerves, Yurio announced that their cab had arrived.

                The drive over was filled mostly with Victor chatting happily to the driver who also happened to be quite the fan. She spoke a mile a minute, effectively crushing any hope that Yuuri might have had to understand the things she said. However when Victor spoke, it was with his trademark confidence that was complimented with his voice like honey, slow and sweet. Yuuri was able to pick up words like “return” and “skating”, as well as both his and Yurio’s names. Although he had fewer than no expectations, he still kept his ear open for any mention of the word “fiancée”, which he had learned from his companion on the plane was _zhenikh_. Part of him hoped that maybe Victor would have the courage that he did not to openly express their intentions to others.

                The more he wondered, the more he realized that the amount of their relationship that they were going to express in public was another conversation that Yuuri would need to have with a sober Victor.

                Yuuri’s thoughts were what occupied him for the drive over, letting him tune out the conversation around him until it was nothing more than an insignificant hum. The public perception of their relationship was something that he had not exactly forgotten, he had just made a conscious decision to set the idea to the side. Victor expressed to him at least once a week that he ought to help him find a way to clear his mind before skating, as it was when he was fixated on his worries that Yuuri had a tendency to make his worst mistakes.

                So Yuuri put effort into stowing his thoughts away, keeping them out of his mindscape from the moment he laced up his skates. However, this meant that they were packed away and sometimes, against his will, forgotten. The concern about the thoughts of others was just one of the many worries that fell victim to this cycle. Now, living together and wearing their love on their hands, Yuuri knew he could not keep this repressed much longer.

                By the time the cab pulled in front of the restaurant, Yuuri had worried himself silly about the prospect of having such a conversation with Victor. But one look at his lover’s bright eyes as he thanked the driver told him that tonight was a night where he should just enjoy himself. He was with Victor now, and that gave them every reason to celebrate. Perhaps they could not do it with much fanfare, but anything was something.

                The building they approached emitted a soft, welcoming glow, complimentary against the sunset. Locals around them were scrambling around to get indoors, the cold still biting among the warm lights.

                But Victor seemed to thrive in the weather, quickly hopping out of the cab and pulling Yuuri along with him. It could be attributed on him being used to the unforgiving Russian winters, but one look at Yurio, who was folded in on himself and shivering, indicated there was something else that was fueling Victor’s carelessness.

                He carried this enthusiasm into the restaurant. The first woman they saw got some unspoken memo and directed the three skaters to a table despite the line that was forming in the lobby. As Victor passed through the crowds, he caught the glances of people who proceeded to excitedly whisper to their companions. Yuuri did not take well to this, feeling a stint of jealously in the way that they responded to the looks that Victor gave out without a care. He wished, at the very least, he could understand what they were saying. He wanted to know if any of it was about him. If they knew who Victor was, they had to recognize Yuuri.

                There was a small desire in him to make some kind of foolish move to assert himself. He could latch himself onto Victor or kiss him or _anything_ that would let all of those giggling girls know they had no chance of being the one on Victor’s arm.

                By the time they reached their table, Yuuri realized he was getting unnecessarily indignant over a group of women that posed no actual threat to their relationship. The fact that he was getting haughty at all was more of a problem than anything.

                But that was far out of the realm of possible conversation topics that they could entertain themselves with. Yuuri sat down, quite overwhelmed with several sensations. There was a host of enticing smells that reminded him he had only had one real meal that day; a cold pork cutlet bowl at the Sheremetyevo airport. Somewhere in the parlor was a piano and a musician, together producing a beautiful, faint soundtrack as the trio began their night.

                A waiter approached them who, like the first woman, greeted Victor like an old friend. He rambled off a few things and Victor nodded, turning his attention to Yuuri. “What would you like to drink?”

                _Finally, a proper translator._ Yuuri shot a teasing glace at Yurio, but it was not received at all by the youngest skater, who was hastily scanning the thin, menu at his place setting.

                “Anything with fruit or something is fine.” Yuuri smiled when he answered Victor, hoping that his expression also conveyed that he was somewhat bothered by the fact that he had to say that at all. Victor had learned very early on in their relationship that any alcohol consumed by Yuuri had to be diluted in both concentration and flavor for a multitude of reasons. Drinks like wine and champagne were fine in his book, but anything too harsh was out of the question. He was both a lightweight and a reckless drunk, which was a scary combination.

                But, not to Yuuri’s surprise, Victor missed the small cue and spoke to the waiter. “My budem imet' belyy russkiy i solenyy sobaku, pozhaluysta.”

                After Yurio, with assertion, requested a serving of caviar and toast, the waiter left them to a pleasant conversation that was mostly just Victor asking about Yuuri’s trip with Yurio peppering in snide remarks and jokes that did not belong in such a well manned place. It was a change of pace to be fawned over, and it did Yuuri quite a bit of good. He was relaxing into the social situation, laughing and talking and occasionally brushing his fingers against Victor’s. This always earned him a subtle smile and a lift in his heart.

                By the time their drinks arrived, Yuuri was as comfortable as he could be. He received a short, clear glass from the waiter, the drink being a muted pink and garnished with a grapefruit slice. He had never seen anything like it, and he was eager to taste it and to judge whether or not his darling had made the correct decision. He reached to lift it to his lips, but he stopped suddenly when Victor cleared his throat.

                Yuuri’s eyes followed his hand, decorated in gold, as he lifted his own glass slightly. “I want to make a toast.

                “To what?” Yurio leaned forward but made the motion of reaching for his own water glass.

                “To my Yuuri, and our new life.” At this point, the gesture was garnering some attention from the other patrons. “From here on in, we aren’t just a coach and skater. Tonight, we begin the rest of our lives, as partners in everything. I have more love than I can bear to keep inside, and now, I share it with you.”

                As he listened, Yuuri’s heart seemed to find its way into his throat. Victor, with the light dancing over his pale skin, still had the likeness of a god- an unreachable figure that Yuuri could only ever bask in. The feelings- love and awe- buzzed around him with no direction until Victor took both of his hands, blue eyes gazing forward with so much adoration that Yuuri could not help but avoid looking back. But the feelings still centralized by his fingertips, reminding him of how incredibly real this moment was, even though Victor, with his obviously rehearsed speech, was determined to make it as dream-like as possible.

                “I love you, Yuuri Katsuki, and I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you. Now that you are here, there is nothing we can’t do. With you by my side, I’ve finally found a way to touch the stars.”

                A tentative laugh subconsciously escaped Yuuri’s lips, and he slowly looked back up. Color sprung into his cheeks as he tried helplessly to find the right words to say. But nothing came to mind; there was no string of words, no hapless declaration, which could accurately describe the swirl of emotions that were coursing to the tips of his being.

                So, instead, he did what nervous and fidgety Yuuri would never in one million years have the confidence to do: he leaned forward on his chair and pressed his lips against Victor’s. Their hands remained intertwined while their eyes fell shut, both giving themselves to the innocent but adoring kiss. Yuuri knew that without a doubt, their spectators had many things to say. But, in that moment, his desire to care was beyond irrelevant. It did not even exist.

                _Let them talk. Let them hate me. This is my love, and my life, and no one can take that away._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian translations:
> 
> \- Malysh (Baby)  
> \- Da, da. Makkachin mozhet ne sledovat' za mnoy, khotya. (Yeah, yeah. Makkachin might not follow me, though)  
> \- On budet sledovat' za Yuuri. On na samom dele lyubit Yuuri. (He'l follow Yuuri. He actually likes Yuuri)  
> \- Bez raznitsy. Pearl ne vash samyy bol'shoy poklonnik. (Whatever. Pearl isn't exactly your biggest fan.)  
> \- Mekh demon ne lyubit menya? Ya budu zhit. (Your fur demon doesn't like me? I think I'll live.)  
> \--  
> \- Vy stavlennik Viktora, ne tak li? (You’re Victor’s protégé, aren’t you?)  
> \- Vi gavareetye pa angleeskee? (Do you speak English?)  
> \- Net (No)  
> \- On pereyekhal v Sankt-Peterburg, chtoby trenirovat'sya s Viktorom. (He moved to St. Petersburg to train with Victor.)  
> \- Eto interesno. Budet li on bit' vas v sleduyushchem godu? (How interesting. So will he beat you next year?)  
> \- Bez shansov, bez shansov. (Not a chance, not a chance.)  
> \- On ne stol' izyashchny ot l'da, on? (He's not so graceful off the ice, is he?)  
> \--  
> \- My budem imet' belyy russkiy i solenyy sobaku, pozhaluysta. (We'll have one White Russian and one Salty Dog, please)
> 
> Yeah. Salty dog definitely sounds like a cocktail I'd want. 
> 
> Anyway thank you so much, again, for reading! If you'd like to send me things, my tumblr is rice-pilaf!
> 
> -Feli <3


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